


soul of celestial origins

by silverskys



Series: soul of celestial origins ⋆ ~crown of the sorrowful~ [3]
Category: IDOLiSH7 (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hoshi Meguri (IDOLiSH7), Grief/Mourning, Jealousy, M/M, Original Mythology, Other, Possessive Behavior, Pseudoscience, Weird Plot Shit, Worldbuilding, except the pseudoscience isn't pseudo, originalish characters, retroactive world fixing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:35:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26572297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverskys/pseuds/silverskys
Summary: I'm on the insideEverybody knows what you will sayLeaves on the ground already cameLeaves on the ground already came...A fragment of stone locked away in a castle is discovered by the castle's newest ruler.  A world away, a moon shrouded in storms is visited for the first time in its history.  So far away, so far apart, the stories of these two moons come together—for not all is well, and a sacrifice from each of them may be necessary.suggested listening:"Black Sun" by Death Cab for Cutie — acoustic version"soul of celestial origins" is the third and final entry in the "soul of celestial origins ⋆ ~crown of the sorrowful~" series; it is recommended that you read the two 'prequel' stories first—as well as the original Hoshimeguri no Kansokusha event story, which this work is a direct sequel to.
Relationships: Inumaru Touma/Natsume Minami, Isumi Haruka & Midou Torao, Isumi Haruka/Midou Torao, background tennharu
Series: soul of celestial origins ⋆ ~crown of the sorrowful~ [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1621708
Kudos: 7





	1. prologue

_Are you listening?_

_Can I tell you a story?_

_I'm not a very good storyteller, but… I like this one. It's a favorite of mine. You might have even heard it before. Even still, this story— it's important to me, and it's important to me that you hear it._

_So… may I tell you a story? Even if you can't hear me, or see me? Even if it won't ever reach you?_

_Would it matter if I did?_

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

He can’t breathe. It feels, truly, as if all the dust colonies and cobwebs in the entire world have choked into this one room. And Scoria will continue to suffer until he's able to begin the more delicate task of dusting— and while that will come soon, it is still too early. To reach that, he'll need to confidently clear this room of anything potentially dangerous that the palace's previous occupants might have left behind when they were evicted. 

He began clearing months ago after first obtaining the key to the Bestian trade hold from the previous reigning queen. Possibly even years ago. Hard to find time for these things in the midst of restructuring nations. It used to hold mostly trade records—those were cleared out first and foremost, read between meetings when he had no other urgent work. It is a relief, today, to find the dust-caked shelves empty, if not any easier to breathe between. 

Several trunks, no doubt concealing a great deal of finery, remain before him. He suspects they were hidden during the early stage of the coup he staged several years ago, before the queen was in any mortal danger. She held onto the key for too long for there to not be something dreadfully important here— thankfully, Adamant is very persuasive, and Scoria was not forced to breach the lock artificially. 

… It truly must've been a long time ago if he didn't pick the lock himself. Scoria is impatient—a few spare hours at night would have been enough to crack it, regardless of how complicated the mechanisms are. And they're quite complicated, by the looks of it. More complicated than any other lock in the palace— at least before Scoria came and had the locks replaced. 

The trunks are effaced with no such obstacle, and Scoria is able to pry one open easily. He nearly chokes on another thick torrent of dust thrown up by the motion, but everything inside seems to be mostly dust-free. The garments' thick fabric has been bitten to death by some variety of insect, likely larvae, and it takes little effort to clear them aside. He'll tell Adamant to get rid of the clothes later; they won't be useful for much. 

Within the first trunk, nearest the door, Scoria finds nothing of particular interest aside from a few necklaces (golden and jeweled, to his disdain; the style is too recent to be the result of honest mining) and a simple key—Bestian, judging by the wood makeup. The former queen is a smart woman, if her resounding 'success' in a patrilineal society is anything to judge by, but hiding the key in a separate trunk will only deter Scoria momentarily. Six trunks remain. 

The trunk nearest the first contains nothing but clothing, as picked over as the first. The next two are far more arduous; the hungry insects weren't taken with the variety of fabric contained within them, he suspects. The layers of clothing, silky and soft, slip easily through his fingers, and thoroughly shaking each dress or shawl takes considerable work. He finds only more jewelry in these, none of any interest. He'll have them picked apart later, perhaps keep the metal for his own forge. 

The fifth trunk, again, yields nothing. But the sixth is a different story. 

Within the trunk, tossed between layers of threadbare clothing, is a small box, crafted of the same wood as the key. Constellations unfamiliar to Scoria are etched into its surface. Its iron hinge is beautiful, delicate relief detailing… an asteroid… He understands, suddenly, what might have been so important to hide. He fumbles with the key. 

The reflection off the gemstone fragment inside glints so strongly that Scoria is momentarily blinded, shutting his eyes reflexively. The light dies down almost instantly, and Scoria opens his eyes. Light green… The fragment is light green, transparent and glowing. It's large as far as gems go, but could still easily fit within Scoria's palm— he opts not to test that theory, unsure of how shatterproof it is. 

There's a sharp knock at the door. "Emperor? The ship is ready for departure." Adamant. Scoria stands, tucking the key into his glove. "Excellent. I just found something I'd very much like to share with His Majesty Branco-di-Cani."


	2. I: the echoes of yesterday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > You were an island  
> I was the one who broke away  
> I was a mess before you came  
> I was a mess before you came...
> 
> Scoria and Adamant visit Bestia. Sardinia makes landfall on an unknown land.
> 
> _suggested listening:["Meet Me on the Equinox" by Death Cab for Cutie — piano version](https://youtu.be/_s5NQNcA3Gs)_

"Halcy, c'mere. I found somethin'—" Artemis' voice sounds from within the rough shrubbery densely packed against the cliffside. Halcyon can see his wings from his perch on the cliff's rugged edge, bent against his back, coiled with strength. _Stunning…_

And then another coarse gust of northern wind beats against his body. 

_It's too cold to indulge Artemis' fancies._ The thought is brief, easily brushed aside. He dives to meet his partner, eager to indulge whatever strange majesty of nature Artemis has taken to. 

_… Strange majesty of nature?_ He even thinks like Artemis now. Halcyon smiles, just a little giddily, as he finds a new perch against the shrubs beside Artemis. 

Artemis looks to him as he lands, grins, wraps one wing against Halcyon's back. "Don't get too cold, now, star-shine." 

"That's your fault!" But Halcyon can't suppress a giggle. Artemis flashes another brilliant grin and digs into a hidden crevice in the cliffside, invisible to Halcyon, with one hand. 

The pouch within is dark in color, woven, no doubt, from the violetbrush that favors the northern islands. Between the fibers, Halcyon can see the glint of something white and shining. Halcyon leans in closer. Pearls, perhaps? What an exceptional rarity… His imagination sparkles with the possibilities of what he could make for Artemis, or trade with another flock should they pass— 

"Wonder who left it," Artemis muses, caressing the finely-laced fabric. His brow darkens with some sort of wistfulness. 

_Don't cry. I'm here with you._ "Perhaps it's a gift from the storms." 

Halcyon is only jesting, but Artemis seems to take the possibility seriously, suddenly alert. Legs firm against at the cliff, wings fluttering tensely, he turns his face to the sky, eyes half-closed. In the next second his wings unfurl, snapping open with the force of two giant clam shells. 

"We gotta get up to the cliff! Something's coming!" Artemis' voice is taut with terror. 

_What—_ But Halcyon has no time to think, only fly, as Artemis grabs hold of his wrist and wrenches him upward with all the force his wings can muster. The motion jerks Halcyon's body into motion, forces him to fly (albeit haphazardly) alongside Artemis. They shoot upward, wind granting them favor, and tumble against the earth of the cliffside. 

"Behind the stones there!" Halcyon barely registers his scraped arm before Artemis, still clutching Halcyon's wrist, and yanks him behind a large rock formation nearby. 

The ordeal only lasts a matter of seconds, but Halcyon is left winded, panting, reaching for Artemis' arm. Eyes still blazing, vision cast upward, Artemis cradles Halcyon within his wings. 

It's only then that Halcyon hears it, what Artemis heard just in time, just ahead of time. The hissing. Dense, fogged hissing and the thick stench of ocean algae. Halcyon recoils, but Artemis seems unaffected. He stands, leaving Halcyon to coil against the rock. The feathers of his wings relax ever so slightly, then tremble with excitement. 

"Halcy, come see! It's a vessel!" 

_I don't want to…!_ But Artemis' half-whispered words are so excited, so tense with curiosity, that Halcyon's body moves on its own. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"Our sincerest apologies for the trouble with your landing— our rainy season has been particularly troubling this year." The Bestian attendant bows deeply, his ears flopping over his forehead. Showing no signs of his previously-incapacitating nausea, Scoria smiles smoothly. "I appreciate the concern, but we were, in the end, able to land safely, and that is thanks to your hard work in securing the harbor." 

The attendant perks up, raising himself from his bow. "His Majesty Branco-di-Cani will be with you as soon as possible! I have… no guarantee of when that will be, but as you've met with His Majesty many times before, I'm sure you're aware of how he… operates…" 

As the palace servant continues to speak with Scoria, Adamant scrutinizes him, measuring for areas of weakness. He's young still, judging by his smooth face and gleaming hair. He bears some resemblance to King Branco-di-Cani, perhaps one of his many brothers. Unlike the king, however, his body isn't built for strength. Scoria is not only stronger but also faster, though he is almost certainly older by several years. The man speaking to them poses no threat. 

"Particularly troubling" is certainly an understatement, though… Adamant, despite having accompanied Scoria many times to this very place, can scarcely find recognition in the Dadang Harbor before him. The river that runs alongside the harbor overflows profusely, glutted with sediment and uprooted trees.. What little he can view of the docks is drowned beneath murky brown water— and many of the streets share the same fate. What stalls remain are damaged, water-stained, and caked with mud. 

The absence of people is the most deafening on his senses. Adamant can only spy a few cleaning crews amongst the rubble. 

Pleasantries wrapped up, the attendant begins the treacherous task of leading them through the half-drowned streets. While Scoria has no reservations about walking through ankle-deep water, the poor servant clearly has very many about asking Scoria to do just that. "We have replacement garments waiting for you in the palace!" he assures countless times, more to himself than to Scoria and Adamant. 

"Shall I carry you, Emperor?" Adamant offers after one of these assurances, tone hushed. Scoria ignores him— 

—or not. In the next second, Adamant is stumbling, falling, having tripped over what he's _absolutely sure_ is Scoria's outstretched foot. He only just manages to catch himself on the remains of a shopkeeper's stall, preserving the last of his dignity. 

"A-Are you all right, Sir di Edera?" 

"Perfectly fine, thank you. Only a misstep." 

"Don't embarrass me further, Adamant." While the remark is lilting, ever-so-slightly joking, Scoria's face says otherwise. Adamant nods, taking the hint. 

_"He's going to leave you behind."_

There it is again. The voice. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The 'vessel'—Halcyon is unsure of what other word he knows could be used to describe it—holds itself aloft in the air before them. The source of the low hiss is expulsions of green-tinted gas from its crystalline white body, and Halcyon can only assume the odor is from the gas as well. The vessel is huge and round, shaped a bit like the instruments Artemis can forge out of driftwood. _Ocarina_ , whispers the buried thought, but Halcyon is far too entranced to pay it much mind. 

The vessel begins to descend, and gas billows from the vessel's holes in porous streams. It sinks to the ground before them, spiralling and solidifying into a thick cushion against the rock. The vessel neatly settles into its nest. _What a strange bird…_

And then the vessel _opens._

The surface unbinds itself, thick tendrils of what look like coral untangling from each other, transforming the vessel into a cave. Fear suddenly overtakes Halcyon's awe, clenching around his throat, strangling his heart. Instinctively, he nudges his fear-stricken body towards the safety of Artemis' wing. 

_If I'm with you, I'll be safe, always._

From the vessel step two figures. Most certainly _people_ , but they lack any wings— the sight is unnerving, almost horrifying. They carry shining spears, glimmering in the color of daylight, and their armor bears the hues of the ocean's water 

"The Blue Planet…" Artemis murmurs under his breath, voice taut with awe. "They must be from the Blue Planet." 

But it seems Artemis was too loud— both guards jerk their eyes toward their 'hiding spot.' Halcyon's stomach sinks even further, wings stiff with terror. "Who goes there?!" one guard shouts, striking the blunt end of his spear against the ground. The accent isn't one Halcyon recognizes. But the words— 

_Don't answer! Don't look—!_

"Artemis, sir! And this is my flockmate, Halcyon!" Artemis responds cheerily, raising both hands toward the guards. "We're unarmed!" Artemis looks to him, eyes confident, and nods toward the guards. His smile—soft, loving, strong—gives Halcyon's arms the strength to reach above the rock, in full view of the guards. 

For a few long moments, the guards are silent, motionless. Distantly, Halcyon hears the sound of waves. "P-please come forward!" the second guard then declares. "… Slowly!" 

Halcyon gives his weight over to Artemis, and Artemis, with a flap of his wings, carries them both forward, beyond the protection of the rock. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"Our deepest apologies! As I'm sure you're aware, His Majesty Branco-di-Cani usually meets with visitors in the throne room, but the halls leading to the throne room flooded quite severely…" The palace aide prattles on aimlessly, his eyes flitting nervously about the flowers of the greenhouse. "In any case, would you like replacement garments? We pride ourselves on our extensive variety of clothing here!" 

The servant is about to continue, surely recounting the country of Branco-di-Cani as rehearsed many times over, but Scoria cuts him off. "We're fine, thank you," he assures, rewarding the aide's effort with a charming smile. Adamant grunts in agreement. 

The servant departs to locate his perpetually tardy king, leaving Adamant and Scoria alone in the palace's lush greenhouse. Just as in Edera, the flowers grow to enormous sizes, petals thick and velvety, spanning larger than a person's hand— but the range of colors is too vast to describe, oversaturated and beaming, searing into Adamant's vision. He is far too adjusted to the murk of Edera’s rainforest shade. 

On the hand-carved bench beside him, Scoria is cast in shades of colored light from the greenhouse's stained glass walls. Adamant's eyes are caught by the motion of his eerily slender fingers, layered with callouses and scars and the remnants of burns Adamant has yet to forgive. He unhooks his boots, releasing the excess water caught in the sole against the dark stone pathway. Color sparks in his eyes, glints off his hair, settles softly against his rugged skin. 

Adamant's emperor is truly beautiful. 

"You're staring." 

Adamant smirks. "And if I am?" 

Scoria glares at him, but Adamant merely tosses his head. A gesture of challenge, should Scoria choose to take it. 

He doesn't, turning to his boots with a long sigh. He relocks the armor around his ankles, bangs falling over his furrowed brow. 

_"You'll lose him soon. You don't want that, do you?"_

That damn voice again… 

Adamant began hearing it upon moving back into the palace, Scoria's stride making way for him in a home long forgotten. It began as whispers, the voice asking him about himself. Who he cares about. Who he loves. If he loves. And though Adamant has never answered—not to his knowledge, anyway—the voice continues to pester and prophesize, picking at fresh scabs its bites alone have formed. 

_"He'll leave you—"_

"Adamant." 

Scoria's voice grounds him to reality, as he does, as his voice always has, from the very beginning. 

"I'm right here, Emperor." 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Sirena. 

These unfamiliar wingless people, they're from the Blue Planet, like Artemis anticipated. The Sireans are, for all their initial anxiety and bluster, very easygoing people, and happily partake in conversation with Artemis as they come and go from their 'ship.' Halcyon stays quiet, curled under Artemis' wings. The unfamiliarity thrums loud around him, ringing ceaselessly in his ears. _How much longer are they going to stay…?_

His stomach rumbles. 

"Dinner!" Artemis' wings ruffle for a moment, and he turns his face to look at Halcyon. "Star-shine, you look ill… Lemme catch somethin' for ya. Wait here; I'll be right ba—" 

**"No!"** Halcyon's shout startles even a guard from the ship, his head darting up from whatever work he's completing. Hastily he settles his feathers, quieting his voice to a more suitable murmur. "Please take me with you. I'm fine." 

Artemis' wings flutter again, his feathers soft and comforting against Halcyon's skin— and though his face is concerned, Artemis nods. "All right. Let's go to the river, then." 

"Actually," the guard offers hesitantly, "we'll be eating soon as well. We have plenty of quite delicious food to spare. The king will be joining us as well." 

_No._

"King?" Artemis, beside him, is savoring the unfamiliar word. "Lemme guess, they're a leader! Your voice— you have a lot of respect for them." 

"Yes!" The guard's voice swells with affection. "His Majesty Annegare is the leader of our country on Sirena— he's the planet's interplanetary ambassador as well! An extraordinary beauty to boot, if I do say so myself! Truly the pride of Sirena! It will truly be an honor for me to dine alongside him as well… Will you join us?" 

_Tell them no!_

But Artemis' eyes are sparkling, and when he speaks, Halcyon can only nod dumbly, helplessly entranced. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Fang Branco-di-Cani enters the garden without so much as the sound of his footsteps, but the presence he carries strikes the air with the force of a howling beast. He doesn't look the part of a noble, not like Scoria does, but his aura is overwhelming, intoxicating; Adamant hesitates to approach him— a hesitation Scoria does not share, having already risen. 

Scoria offers a slight bow, which Fang returns. "Sorry I'm late! I hope you two didn't wait too long?" 

"Not at all." Scoria shoots a glare back at Adamant, forcing him forward. It pains Adamant to bow before a leader that isn't his own, but he'll do it, should Scoria ask. 

"And sorry about the mess, too. I see your boots are still soaked…" 

"Nature is nothing mere people can truly fight," Scoria replies smoothly, though a smirk pricks the edges of his lips. "You can only adapt, and you have done quite well, as far as I can see." 

"I was hoping I could ask you for advice, actually…" The king, though he towers above Scoria, is sheepish, pensive. The stately aura around him fizzles out. Adamant bites back a laugh. "You've got a lot of experience with ecology, don't you? I'd like to hear your thoughts." 

"You could say that." Scoria laughs softly, and then, as if sensing the shift in Adamant's demeanor, points his golden gaze toward his secretary. "Adamant, please have some tea prepared for us." 

_"That emperor of yours— he doesn't value you."_

But Adamant doesn't need Scoria to value him. He doesn't need attention. He doesn't need acknowledgement, or praise. It's enough for Adamant to be near him, to be relied upon. Not a single other living being could match the strength, resilience, pride, power of Scoria of Catrame, Emperor of Edera. If the voice truly understood him, it wouldn't be saying those sorts of things— they don't phase him. It's enough to be used by 'his emperor.' 

And he's still so useful, after all. 

"Of course, Emperor." Adamant bows, and then turns his feet toward the halls of this fine Bestian palace. He already knows the way. 

And yet… 

And yet his footsteps are drawn back, behind the shadow of a pillar, soundless and out of sight. 

_"He'll leave you behind. You can see it; I know you do."_

Fuck you, he mouths to himself (to the voice), fuck you, and he's got much worse on his mind, until— 

"It began with the earthquakes, actually. Small ones at first, nothing we're not accustomed to." 

The voice of Fang Branco-di-Cani, loud and clear. 

_"Are you really so sure that you aren't replaceable?"_

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The king of Annegare is truly a beautiful man; the guard was certainly not exaggerating. Features smooth and lustrous like the inside of a clam shell, soft and pearlescent hair— for the first time that day, Halcyon truly listens to the words of a stranger. He speaks smoothly, fluid as water, and to Halcyon's surprise, he understands most of the words— and it comes just as much a surprise to King Sardinia of Annegare. 

"There was a time before the constant typhoons, yes? We may have communicated early in your development as people; we've had interplanetary travel for quite a long time now." 

Artemis ponders the question, feet stretched out casually before the fire. Halcyon has nestled himself beneath the haven of his wing, his own feathers stretching blue and gray across Artemis' legs. Artemis shifts slightly as he thinks, his feathers rustling ever so slightly in concentration. "No, I don't think that would have been possible," he concludes finally, looking to Halcyon with unconcealed affection. "Least not from what Halcy's told me." 

"And what have you told him?" The king's eyes, soft dusk in color, focus in on Halcyon, sharpened to a point. Halcyon's breath catches in his throat. 

"Well—" 

"Let me tell it, Your Highness," Artemis insists, swooping in to save him. "Halcy often praises me for my storytelling." Artemis looks to him for acknowledgment; he nods— Artemis has always been the far superior storyteller. 

Sardinia looks amused, a genuine smile poking at the corners of his mouth. "Well then, may you weave us a spectacular tale." The guards are equally enraptured, their eyes glittering. Artemis is nothing if not charming, intriguing, captivating— 

Halcyon huddles closer to him in the fading light. 

Beside him, Artemis takes a deep breath, his body steady. His feathers dance lightly in a passing breeze. 

"Saga was born of a tremendous calamity. The serpent of the cosmos struck the surface of our mother, and of the enormous impact Saga was born, tearing ourselves from Mother's surface. Our birth left our mother gasping for breath, as we had taken with us much of the air she needed to breathe, the water she needed to nourish herself. But she had wanted us to form— the soul of the stars had written the destiny of our birth. 

"We collected ourselves, picked ourselves from the dust of the stars, our mother's outstretched arms granting us safety and warmth. And that was how Saga came to take form." 

The fire has grown dim, but truly, it's as if the light that had vanished collects in Artemis' eyes. His tone, his gestures, the very words on his tongue brighten the faint stars above, enchant the air. These strangers are his captured audience, dazzled by the very air around them. 

And even with eyes that have seen Artemis at work perhaps hundreds of times, Halcyon is no different. 

"With our wings, our light bodies, perhaps you may think that Sageans are people of the air, but we began much differently. We came to be on the land, living quiet and sedentary lifestyles. Our bones heavy, our backs light, we labored in the sunrise and celebrated the sunset, always praying to the blue shadows of our mother, her surface cast against the stars. Her sacrifice was not in vain; we lived happy and bountiful lives. 

"It's unclear what happened next— perhaps we lost the belief in our mother, and she resented us. Regardless of the reason, the storms began, shredding the peaceful lives we had with their horrendous whirlwinds. Crops were devastated. Islands flooded completely and vanished into the ocean. And if we had lost our faith, we searched desperately for it now. 'Please save us, Mother. Please. Let us escape this horror.' 

"And it seems Mother heard our cries, for she granted us wings – splendid, luxurious feathers and powerful muscle with which to fly, to outrun the horror. In turn, she lightened our bones and our forms, giving our wings the power to carry us from the earth we loved so dearly. 

"And with her love, we flew." 

Artemis' story concludes in a rush of silence, the shimmer of the air sinking into the bodies of his listeners. It is several long moments before the haze of magic clears. Sardinia is the first to speak. 

"As astonishingly lovely as your story is, Artemis," he acknowledges, "I fail to see how interplanetary communication could be so impossible." 

Artemis blinks, then laughs— Halcyon's favorite, the sort of hearty laugh that shakes Artemis' body and giddily flutters his feathers. "Oh, I forgot," he admits, the rougher tone returning to his voice. "But I don't really see why we'd need it." 

The king narrows his eyes. "And do tell, why not?" 

"'cause Saga loves Sirena— that's what you called her, right? And Sirena loves Saga. That love keeps us connected better than any words could." 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"From what you've told me, I think Bestia's crust may be cracking— very deeply, in fact, enough to develop prominent new fault lines. Though the problems began several years ago, they've likely escalated to that point." 

Adamant's body stiffens against the pillar he's hidden against. He's no scientist, not like Scoria— but even so, he knows what his emperor is saying is very, very bad. Scoria's voice says as much; it's grim, tight, not a hint of humor to it. 

"Really?! But— There's one more thing, actually…" 

"It gets worse, then?" 

"I wouldn't say it's bad, necessarily, just strange… I've had reports from residents who live in the mountains that the leaves of the trees are being torn from the trees… and flying upwards. Toward the sky. No one's quite sure where the leaves are collecting, or what sort of wind could be causing it. It's never been reported before." 

There's a period of relative silence, or at least no words Adamant can pick up from the sheltered distance of his hiding spot. "… I may have an answer for you, actually." Scoria's voice is low, and Adamant strains to hear. 

"Really?! You're truly incredible, Emperor! I knew I could count on you!" 

Adamant can picture the expression upon Scoria's face, the subtle tight smile he takes in the face of danger and tragedy. The fluidity of his body, no matter the situation, shining like liquid metal yet to take form. Adaptable, intelligent, strong, ready with a plan. A strong sigh, then— 

"Adamant, show yourself. I know you're there— your presence is certainly irritating me." 

The sudden fire of Scoria's voice, loud and sharp, calls Adamant from his hiding place immediately, without even a second thought. 

_"See? You're so useless without him. What will you do when he leaves you?"_

Adamant scowls. _I won't let him leave, then_ , he growls to the voice, emerging from the shadows to heed his summons. 

Scoria sinks his angry eyes into him the moment he appears. Adamant nods—yes, I understand that I disobeyed you—and Scoria gives him no more attention, turning his focus to the satchel at his side. 

From the satchel, Scoria produces the box from earlier— the one hidden in the horrid mess of a trade records room. "Do you recognize this, Your Majesty?" 

The king's brows furrow in concentration. "The styling is definitely ours, albeit back a few hundred years, but I don't recognize it." 

Scoria nods thoughtfully. "I imagine it was given as a gift from one of your previous kings to the royal family of Edera as some sort of peace offering, or show of brotherhood." A pause. "That was certainly a bad idea." 

"Why? Is there a problem?" 

Scoria opens the box. 

"I'd imagine it was dormant until the disturbance ten years ago, but this is a shard of Bestia’s Star Sphere piece, yes?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/eienseiriron) ⋆ [series hashtag](https://twitter.com/hashtag/hoshisequel?f=live)  
> Thank you again to [Ciel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aegious/pseuds/aegious) for beta'ing for me~ You're the best!

**Author's Note:**

> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/eienseiriron) ⋆ [series hashtag](https://twitter.com/hashtag/hoshisequel?f=live)
> 
> Thank you so much to [Ciel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aegious/pseuds/aegious) for beta'ing for me; you're a lifesaver! And thank you to [Hime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajisaihime/pseuds/ajisaihime) and Anj (hellocrier on Twitter) for the translation help~ This never would have happened without you all and I'm really, really grateful. (ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ


End file.
